Water Lily
by RooOJoy
Summary: ". . . He lightly ran his hands over the plant in an attempt to familiarize himself with it and frowned when he could feel the limp flowers droop heavily in his palm. The scent that wafted gloriously from the flower made his heartache in need of his wife. He inhaled deeply, and instantly felt as though his face was buried in the crook of her neck, her curls tickling his skin."


Written for TheMourningMadam's Once Upon A Time Fest. I was prompted the fairytale, The Story of a Mother by Hans Christian Anderson. This story is a retelling of the actual fairy tale, using the Harry Potter universe and its characters. I do not own the rights to either the original fairy tale or the HP world. I am happy to play in the fandom and practice the art of story telling.

Thank you SO much to IwasBOTWP for her amazing Beta help. I always feel so much better posting a story knowing she's read it first.

I will forever be grateful to Rosella_Burgundy for the amount of time she spends not just as an Alpha for me, but an amazing cheerleader - of course a cheerleader dressed in black and waving flaming fire pom poms. ;)

* * *

Her hand was so cold.

Surely, it shouldn't be this chilly when the bedroom was warm, a fire roaring in the grate only a metre away. He placed the back of his hand across her cheek and her skin felt flushed, the rosy hue darkening as her eyes fluttered at his touch.

"Draco?" Her voice was hoarse and raspy. Reaching for the glass of water on the table next to the bed, he held it to her lips and lifted her head for her to take a sip.

"It's me, love. I'm here." She nodded gently, letting her head fall back against the downy pillows.

Sinking into the bed, she pulled the duvet up to her chin. "Hold me," she whispered.

Never willing to withhold a single thing from the woman, he rose from his seated position, and ever so carefully climbed under the blanket to wrap his arms around his dying wife. The room grew darker, the only light coming from the flames making the shadows dance across the walls. Her breathing began to slow, signalling to him that she had fallen asleep, her weight heavy against him.

"Please, Hermione, don't leave me," he murmured against her curls, tears flowing thickly. His voice shook, and a sob echoed in the stillness of the night. Reluctantly, he let his tired eyes close, sleep something that hadn't happened in days. Feeling himself drift off, he attempted to pull his lids apart to stay awake, but it was in vain. He fell heavily into slumber.

The room was icy, almost frigid. He looked around; a dim light coming from somewhere, but he couldn't place where - it wasn't from the fireplace. The windows were sealed shut, yet the freezing temperature permeated his skin and body. Turning in a circle, attempting to gain his bearings he spotted an old man in the corner of the room. The aged man turned to him, his long dark cloak swaying with him. His skin was pale, but his eyes bore a darkness. Draco watched with fear as the man approached the woman in the bed. He knew her, his heart called out for her to wake. His voice shook, pleading for the man to move away from the bed, but he steadily approached her and reached one hand out to touch her. She didn't move, she didn't stir. It was too late, his wife, his love was being taken from him.

Rooted to the ground, he could do nothing but watch as the old man lifted the young woman, clasping her limp body in his arms.

No, no, nooooo!

Draco lurched awake, his body shaking, the blankets around his form drenched in sweat. The place next to him was cold and empty. Death had taken her. Jumping from his place, he pulled his wand and ran outside - where had the old man taken her? He swiftly looked around, but the only thing he could see in the darkness of the night was the snow that lay heavy on the ground.

His shoulders slumped, and he started to look for clues as to where Death could have gone. A noise from the gates brought his attention, and he looked up to see a woman striding towards him. She was draped in heavy, dark blue robes, and her face was shielded by a wide hood. He ran the few paces to her, pleading, "Please, tell me, have you seen an ageing man leave with my wife? She is sick; she shouldn't be out here in the cold."

The woman stood still, listening. Finally, she spoke, her voice smooth and calming. "I have seen Death, and I know which way he went. He strides faster than the wind, and never brings back what he has taken. You do not have much hope of saving your wife. I pity you, man, so I will tell you which way he has fled, but in return, you will retell me all of the stories that you have read to your sickly wife."

Draco gasped. "There is no way I could begin to tell you all of the stories. The woman loves to read, so I have been reading to her from the moment she was bedridden."

"My dear, you misunderstand. See, I am Night, and I listen to the stories you read her before she closes her eyes. Your voice is beautiful and full of love and adoration for her. I want to hear those stories, because those are the ones of your heart."

Draco never told a soul that on the night Hermione fell very ill, she had asked him to read to her. Neither of them knew just how sick she was, but still being the devoted husband that he was, he let her curl up into his side as he grabbed the book off her nightstand and opened the first page. He smiled down at the title Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump.

"You want me to read a children's book to you?"

She nodded weakly next to him and then whispered. "Just skip The Tale of Three Brothers. I've had enough of the particular story for a lifetime."

And so he read the book to her every night since. He'd first read Babbitty Rabbitty, then The Fountain of Fair Fortune, The Wizard and the Hopping Pot, and The Warlock's Hairy Heart, finally closing the small book before finishing the last story.

"Please, Night, I do not have time for this. I beg of you to show me which way Death has gone so that I may urge him to return my wife to me."

Night stood silently, dark against the white of the snow. Draco spun in frustration, looking for footprints or some evidence of the way he should flee, but it was in vain, Death did not leave a trail.

Absolutely exhausted he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling hard until tears sprang to his eyes. "Fine! I will tell you the stories, and then I demand you tell me which way they went."

"As you wish."

Draco began the tale of Babbitty Rabbitty. His words were rushed, flying from his lips, but Night paused him and told him to do it like he did for his wife. Starting over, he pulled each story from his memory, the words flowing easily. Closing his eyes, he recited the words, images of Hermione playing in his mind as he did so. Tears were flowing down his face, leaving his cheeks flamed red from the cold, but he relished in the burn and finished what Night asked of him.

"You have such a lovely voice," she told him again, "Death fled through the woods, just over there." Night pointed into the distance, the wide forest thick and dark.

Running the way she pointed, he didn't look back to watch as she disappeared into the sky.

Entering the trees, he found a small path. He assumed it to be from one of the magical beings in this forest; maybe a unicorn, thestral, or even a hippogriff. It was well worn and he was grateful for something to follow. Moving quickly, it wasn't long before he came to a crossroads in the path. Looking quickly to his left, he saw nothing but more trees. To his right, it was the same. Which way was he supposed to go now?

Stomping his foot in frustration, he noticed a rather large, yet clearly dying rose bush. There were no buds left on the plant, and the few leaves that remained hung limply weighted down by heavy frost. "I will show you which way Death has taken your bride."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise, but he only paused a moment before throwing himself down on his knees to be face to face with the bush. "Please, yes, show me which way they went."

"First, I need a favour from you. I am so cold and lonely; I am dying. Will you warm me?"

Draco began to remove his shirt from around his body, but the plant spoke again. "No, hold me to your body - let me feel your heartbeat."

Wrapping his arms around the weak plant, he felt the thorns pierce his arms and chest. The coldness of the air and the iciness of the leaves burned his skin. Still, he held on tighter, warming the plant with his own blood. The bush began to shake against his flesh as it warmed, greenery rippling from the plant and soft pink petals blossoming from their buds.

"You must love her very much, for my flowers are the most beautiful they have ever been. Death took her to your right. Tread carefully, Death moves fast and without warning."

Taking off to the thin path to the right, he felt his heart beat rapidly in his chest. He could sense he was getting close, he had to save her. He had to convince Death that she wasn't ready to go. The trees were thick and he was snagged by sticks and brambles so often, but he kept up his swift pace, coming rather quickly to an ice covered lake.

It wasn't thick enough to cross over, but there was no way he could swim across it. The vast lake would take ages to walk around. Feeling a fresh wave of hopelessness cascade over him, he fell to the ground, grief surging from his body in racking sobs.

"I collect pearls." A voice echoed around the air. He looked up to see his own reflection in the water before him. The voice sounded again, "You have the most beautiful eyes. I will take you to Death's front door in exchange for your eyes."

"Please, I'll do anything. How do I get there."

"Cry your tears onto the surface, and I will take you to Death without sorrow or pain."

Hermione's smiling face flashed across his lids and with it came a wave of more tears. He had to save her. His grief slid down his cheeks and splashed lightly on the lake's surface. It didn't matter that he would no longer be able to see her as the lake had taken his sight, he would always have her smile in his memory and now he could save her from Death.

A wave picked Draco up and moved him across the expanse of the lake. He felt neither cold or wet from the water, but he was rather grateful to feel the solid ground under his feet. Moving forward blindly, he happened upon what felt like a door. He fumbled with the handle before it was swung forcibly open, making Draco fall hard against the ground. A fragrance immediately assaulted his senses, reminding him of a greenhouse without the stench of fertilizer. There must have been hundreds of plants, flowers, and trees in this place.

A scraping of shoes on the stone made Draco stand as quickly as he could, his wand out in defence.

"Put that wand away, you silly boy."

Draco recognized that voice. "Snape?" he questioned.

"Well, who else would it be?" The snide and pompous response slid like velvet from his old professor's lips. Draco actually smiled for a moment before remembering why he was here.

"Severus, please," Draco pleaded, reaching out to grasp the man, only to close his palms over empty air. "You have to help me. Death has taken Hermione, and I need to stop him."

He listened as Snape took a slow breath in through his long hooked nose, before letting it out in a bit of what Draco readily noticed was frustration. He could only imagine the way the old man's eyes glittered darkly.

"Draco, you have beaten Death home. He is not here yet."

Sighing in relief, he asked, "What is this place, and why are you here?"

"This is where Death dwells and rears flowers and trees; each one is a human life. Many flowers and trees have faded tonight, and Death will soon come to transplant them. You know already that every human being has a life-tree or a life-flower. They look like other plants, but they have hearts that beat. As to why I am here, well, I would think you should ask yourself that. Why did you call me to be your greeter?"

That question confused him. What did he mean? He remembered once, Potter telling him the story of when Voldemort had killed him in the Forbidden Forest during the Final Battle. Dumbledore had greeted him. Was that what this was, Severus was greeting Draco on Death's doorstep?

"Take me, Severus. Which plant is Hermione so that I might be able to save her? I will guard the plant and refuse to let him transplant her."

"That, my boy, is not my purpose here. I am merely here to greet you to the hothouse. I have done that, and now I will expect a gift in return if you want anything more from me."

Draco tilted his chin in the air, a tone of indifference in his voice. "And what could you possibly want from me? You're dead, and I am a broken man with no sight."

"I want your redemption. Hermione gave you that, and in my death, I still bear the pain and the burden of my sins. Please, Draco, give me what she gave you."

Draco gasped. "Redemption? What does that mean to you?"

"Is it not obvious, you nimwit," Snape scolded in his icy tone. "This Mark upon my skin, I want it gone. I want to live in the afterworld as something other than a misfit, a broken child that needs fixing. Now, Death will be arriving soon, trade the redemption you received so willingly with the pain and burden of the shame I wear. Do that, and I will guide you to her plant."

Draco didn't need much time to think it over. He quickly swapped his faded mark with Severus' bold Dark Mark. As his skin burned the way it used to when Voldermort, himself, would call him to his side, he also felt the sickening feeling of disgrace run over him like he stepped under a stream of its humiliation. The pain that came next was almost excruciating. It felt like it did when he was first branded with the Dark magic: evil, powerful, and sick. As the emotions ran through his core, he truly felt like he was beginning to lose hope, but if his professor could give him something to use against Death, he would give anything to gain that knowledge.

"I will take you farther in now." Severus led him through the hothouse, the flowers and trees lush about them. As he slowed down, Draco caught a familiar scent. It was heavenly, and he knew that he was close to Hermione's plant. "We are here."

Draco reached out and felt the soft petals of what he could tell was a water lily. He lightly ran his hands over the plant in an attempt to familiarize himself with it, and frowned when he could feel the limp flowers droop heavily in his palm. The scent that wafted gloriously from the flower made his heart ache in need of his wife. He inhaled deeply, and instantly felt as though his face was buried in the crook of her neck, her curls tickling his skin.

"Draco, do not pick up the plant. Wait for Death."

Standing tall again, he faced the voice of the man who brought him this far. "You told me you had a way to save her. Tell me."

"I promised no such thing. However, I will reveal a secret of Death's, but it is up to you what you do with it."

They both stood in silence, the smell of the lily washing over Draco as if he had dipped himself into a bath filled with the flowers. "Tell me then."

"When Death arrives, you must threaten him," Snape started out, his voice low as if he was scared of being overheard. "Tell him that if he pulls the crocus that is Hermione that you, in turn, will pull two more other plants."

"And how will this prevent Death from taking my wife?" Draco snarled, his frustration and mere exhaustion overwhelming.

Long fingers touched lightly on his shoulder and squeezed. "This will scare Death because he must answer to God for each death."

The pressure on his arm disappeared, and he quickly realized Snape was gone. A mild chill ran across his skin, and he whipped around trying to gain his bearings in this place he couldn't see.

And then he was graced with a new presence.

"You have arrived here before me. No man has ever raced against Death and won. Move, child, I must do my work and transplant this soul. She will forever be with God now."

"No," Draco reached out toward the voice, blind to where Death actually stood. Protectively, he stood in front of the water lily, reaching his fingers out to find the stalks of two other plants close by. "If you pull her plant, I will pull two more."

Death halted his movements and stood still, the air staling around them. As he spoke, his tone was even, reminding him of his father when he would attempt to pacify his whiny child. "I only do His will. I am his gardener. I take all His flowers and trees, and transplant them into the gardens of Paradise in an unknown land. How they flourish there, and what that garden resembles, I can not tell you."

"I don't care. You can't take her. He can't have her. I need her." A broken sob echoed around them. He felt Death move towards him and closer to her plant; his cloak brushing against his bare arms rising gooseflesh that made his whole body shiver.

He straightened quickly and gripped the plants more firmly in his palms, ready to pull their roots from the ground holding them on this earth.

"You are unwell, lad. I ask you, if you love her so much and you are so unhappy, are you willing to take a loved one from another?"

Draco paused, his grip on the stems loosening for only a moment before he straightened again. "I don't care about them."

"You say you don't care, but yet, you hesitated. I can see your heart; it is bleeding, but it is filled with goodness and love. She gave that to you, and you will forever hold it for her."

"No, I can't be good without her. I can't do this without her."

"You are blind, man, you are not seeing clearly. Here, let me give you back your eyes. This will help you to understand." Death gave him back his eyes, and he looked around the area with wonder. He could tell there was magic here, the room practically humming with something like an electric current. "Draco, I saw your eyes shining in the lake, but I didn't know they were yours. You gave so much to get here. I will not let you go unrewarded."

"I don't want a reward," he spat, "I want my wife."

"That is not God's will, but I have something that may suffice." First, Death waved his hand and the tingling of his skin made him look down as all the cuts and scrapes healed themselves over. After that, he felt the Mark on his arm begin to fade, and with it, a lightness in his heart began to grow.

A heavy burden seemed to lift from his shoulders, but he didn't understand the feeling or the reason his body reacted the way it did. A vision of Hermione edged its way across his mind. Her eyes sparkled, and his heart lightened at the curious way her nose wrinkled right before her face lit up in a satisfied smile. He sighed, his soul aching as he knew how disappointed she'd be in him. She would never condone him stealing another's life to keep her here. Knowing she'd be more courageous than what he was being, he slackened his grip around the plants and dropped his arms heavily to his side.

Death reached his pale hand into his dark robes and pulled out something small. Extending his arm, he turned his palm up and revealed a small white stone.

Draco looked at the simple and plain rock. "What would I want that for?"

"Turn it thrice, and think of her. She will be with you for as long as you want her to be."

His hand reacted immediately, grasping the cool stone in the tips of his fingers. He turned it over three times while an image of Hermione played happily in the forefront of his mind. When he opened his eyes, she stood next to him, the smile she always wore just for him on her face. He exhaled in relief and reached out to her. She was cold to the touch, and she echoed his frown.

"This isn't my wife."

"No, your wife is in Paradise. This is your memory of her."

"Just tell me she was happy. Tell me I didn't ruin her life when she agreed to wed me. She didn't deserve to die so young."

"Come with me, lad," Death instructed. He led him to a well in the centre of the room. With him, he carried the limp leaves of the lily, the roots hanging stark white against the darkness of Death's robes. The cloaked figure plucked a tiny leaf from the plant and threw it into the depths of the well. "See for yourself."

After a moment's hesitation, Draco leaned over the rim of the deep hole and gasped as he saw the reflection of two different women dancing across the surface. One was of a young Hermione, her mass of curls in a riotous mess. Tears stained her cheeks as she was thrown down onto a pebbled lane, jeers and taunts coming from places he couldn't see. She was scared and lonely, the feelings emitting up from the chill of the water as if he was bathing in the iciness of pain and hatred. He gasped, looking from the water to Death in confusion.

Death gestured for him to look again, and with a deep breath, he looked back to the water to see his wife. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy hue and a smile so bright, it took his breath away. Her whole body vibrated with happiness and love, and when her eyes met his, they lit up. His eyes filled with tears, and he once again looked at Death, a question silently pleading for answers.

"At one time, this pretty flower held many possible fates. She chose you as her fate, and because of her choice, and yours as well, she lived the second of those images."

His breath left him heavily. "Take her. Take my wife to this unknown land. And take this too, I do not need a gift from Death for it is tainted with sorrow."

Death bowed his body forward and moved away leaving Draco by the well. The pain too great to bear, he doubled over and fell to the ground, heavy sobs racking his body. He had to let her go, there was nothing more he could do.


End file.
